Helpless
by RomansRoad
Summary: A *late* dictionary challenge entry.


_All right…so some of you may have seen me around this fandom, I leave reviews sometimes. I admit I've been reading your discussion forums, and decided to try one out. I know the dictionary challenge is over, but I was behind the times and just finished this. _

_I have seen the 2011 movie and part of the 1993 version (Charlie Sheen! Normal! Not creepy!), but have not read the books. I feel like this story may be reflective of the fact. But! I did try my best. The word I pointed at was "Helpless"._

D'Artagnan's teeth clacked together with the force of his head slamming against the ground. He blinked and fought to clear the sudden fog from his mind. Yells and grunts sounded above him, along with the distinctive ring of clashing swords.

Rolling on to his stomach, D'Artagnan shoved himself to his knees, grabbing his blade from where it had fallen in the dirt. He was almost on his feet when a loud grunt sounded, followed by the sickening thud of Athos's sturdy frame landing, or rather, being thrown to the frozen soil.

Deciding to check on his friend before charging back to help Aramis and Porthos, D'Artagnan scrambled over to Athos's side. "Are you all right, Athos?" he asked.

Athos had his eyes closed. "Fantastic," he muttered in a voice tight with pain. "Go help the others, boy. I'll be there in a moment."

D'Artagnan rather doubted it would take 'a moment' for Athos to be back up and fighting, but the thought was driven from his mind as a raw-throated yell echoed behind him. Turning swiftly on one knee, D'Artagnan was forced backwards over Athos's body as one of the bandits slashed his knife downward, only to have it blocked by D'Artagnan's sword.

They engaged in a fierce duel, during which D'Artagnan managed to gain his feet again, and it was ended only after the bandit's knife was flung from his hand and he was cut down.

Aramis and Porthos were both finishing off opponents of their own, a task which was swiftly accomplished. With only a few of the masked men remaining, D'Artagnan was confident that the musketeers would be able to defeat-

"Stop!"

The lead man's cool voice gave D'Artagnan pause. Glancing up, he saw that the leader of the bandits had pulled Athos from the ground and had a dagger pressed to the musketeer's throat. Teeth bared in a snarl, Athos was undeniably trying to frighten the man off, but his pale color disclosed his weaker state. D'Artagnan spotted the reason, which was growing by the second: a blotch of red on Athos's side.

"Surrender now, and I'll let your friend live," the man said, pulling Athos's head back further. "If you don't, I'll have no choice but to kill him." He pushed the blade a bit deeper, and blood suddenly beaded and trickled down. Athos stiffened.

D'Artagnan felt his lip curl in anger. If there was one feeling that he did not enjoy in the least, it was being helpless. The sheer vulnerability of it, as well as the lack of action made him want to scream at the injustice of it all.

"Fine. We will surrender." Aramis, ever the levelheaded one, released his sword and let it fall to the ground. Porthos nodded and his sword joined Aramis's, even as his brow dipped and the cheerful look in his eyes was blacked out.

D'Artagnan threw his blade to the ground and fought the urge to spit at the leader's feet. It wouldn't be good for Athos if he did. "There," he said bitterly. "Now let him go."

A fiendish smile formed on the man's face. "But what lesson would that teach? If you knew us to be so merciful, you would continue to pursue us. No. No, I think the best lesson for you would be to watch, helpless, as I slit your companion's throat."

D'Artagnan's fingers itched to grab his sword and run the criminal through with it. But he saw the remaining two bandits stalking closer to the standing musketeers. There was no way it could be done. He gritted his teeth at the realization.

At that moment, Athos opened his eyes. He looked at D'Artagnan, who stood closest to Athos, and then down at where D'Artagnan had cast his sword. Aramis and Porthos noticed the look as well, and shifted ever so slightly so that they would be able to snatch up their blades.

Suddenly Athos struck the arm holding the knife to his throat, and it was in that moment that several things happened at once. Aramis and Porthos retrieved their swords and attacked the other bandits, while D'Artagnan ignored his own sword and sprang at the lead bandit, grabbing the surprised man's wrist and forcing the dagger inward into the plunderer's heart.

"Not so helpless right now, am I?" D'Artagnan growled, and spat in his face.

He shoved the dead body away and spun to Athos. "Stubborn old man," D'Artagnan breathed as he ran a cursory glance over Athos's wounds. "Why didn't you say you were hurt?"

Athos struggled with his words as the blotch grew. "You…focus…not me."

"All right, all right, don't try to talk." D'Artagnan pulled Athos's shirt open and ripped off a piece of his own to staunch the worst of the bleeding. "It doesn't seem too deep, but I'm not sure…"

Aramis and Porthos dropped down beside him. "How is he?" Aramis inquired, expertly taking over from D'Artagnan.

"He took a blow to the side, I don't know how deep it is."

"Right. How far is the next town?"

Porthos sighed. "Too far to go if we want most of his blood to remain within him."

Aramis closed his eyes for a second, his lips forming soundless words. He then turned to the other men. "Porthos, set up camp in the woods for tonight, but help me move Athos first. D'Artagnan, build the hottest fire you can and try to dull the point of one of these knives. Quickly as you can now." He wrapped a rudimentary bandage around Athos's middle as he spoke.

D'Artagnan grabbed a dagger from where it lay near them and jumped up. He trailed the other three to a clearing just a little ways off the main road, where Aramis and Porthos carefully laid Athos on a blanket. "Keep an eye on him while you make the fire, D'Artagnan," Aramis said, going to help Porthos.

D'Artagnan soon had a blazing fire going, and had grinded the point of the knife down on a rock. Aramis tied a thick branch to the knife and shoved the metal into the fire. He sat down close to Athos and removed the bandage, studying the wound intensely before beginning to clean the blood off. Athos clenched his fists, his eyes screwing shut.

"D'Artagnan, is the knife hot enough yet?" Aramis asked tersely.

The blade was glowing a dull red. "Yes."

"Good. Porthos, D'Artagnan, you'll need to hold him down so he doesn't hurt himself. Athos…"

"Leather," Athos said. D'Artagnan saw the crease in Athos's forehead that signified he was preparing himself for what was to come.

Aramis placed a strip of leather hide from a knife case in Athos's mouth, and picked up the dagger from the fire. "Here we go."

D'Artagnan felt Athos trying to writhe in pain beneath him and Porthos, the cords in his neck standing out as he bit down hard on the leather between his teeth. Athos's eyelids opened and he fixed a penetrating gaze on D'Artagnan.

D'Artagnan stared back, wishing he could take some of the older man's agony away. Athos had a way of communicating much with certain looks he had. Most of the time, his face told of nothing, years of training meaning that he could conceal most any emotion. At times, silent fury would make its way into his expression, something that D'Artagnan was not inclined to readily observe. On rare occasions, though, a genuine smile would soften all of his features, and he appeared years younger. The pain that Athos was experiencing now made D'Artagnan feel even more helpless than he had earlier.

Breaking the stare, Athos's eyes flitted slightly before rolling back into his head as his body went limp. D'Artagnan released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

Aramis finished cauterizing the wound and returned the blade to the fire to burn. "There. He's best off by the fire for now; we'll see how he's doing when he comes to. Fancy trying to find some supper, Porthos?"

"I'm famished. D'Artagnan?"

"I'm not hungry. I'll stay and keep watch." D'Artagnan allowed his gaze to follow the retreating figures of his friends into the woods before wrapping his arms around his knees and staring into the flames.

The silence stretched around him. Feeling a bit nervous, D'Artagnan began talking quietly to the unconscious Athos.

"You really had me worried there, Athos. I mean, it's no surprise when I get taken out during a fight, but seeing you down…that was a little nerve-wracking. I didn't even see the blood when I checked on you the first time." D'Artagnan laughed humorlessly. "How awful is that?"

He tossed a few sticks into the fire, listening to the crackling. "Probably one of the worst feelings ever. Helplessness. It's an invisible enemy. You can't fight it with swords, or even words really. Game of the mind. I don't suppose you ever feel like that." D'Artagnan paused and made sure Athos was still out cold. "You're Athos. Sometimes I forget you even have problems. Besides Milady. But I mean problems like being unsure of yourself, scared, or feeling helpless. Do you ever feel any of those?"

"Naturally," Athos rumbled.

D'Artagnan froze, a blush creeping up his face. "I didn't know…that is, you're…awake."

"It would seem so." Athos's eyes flickered open. He looked up to where D'Artagnan was observing him. "You are not so alone in this world, D'Artagnan."

"I find that hard to believe," D'Artagnan mumbled into his knee. "Do you truly know any of the emotions I mentioned?"

"Just because I do not physically show them does not mean that I am not one to fall prey to them."

"Then name me the last time you succumbed to such sentiment."

"There are innumerable times, but one that is rather outstanding was seeing you after your duel with Rochefort. You looked a mess and were none too steady on your feet. How do you think that makes an old man feel?"

To hear Athos state his emotions so forwardly was more than slightly startling. "I…had no idea."

"D'Artagnan, it is no folly to be able to feel. The world feeds you lies that say otherwise, but do not believe them for an instant."

"I thought you professed to avoid such things." D'Artagnan tipped his head to the side in order to see Athos.

Athos grunted and shut his eyes. "Until some little farm boy barreled into my life."

D'Artagnan smiled. "Fair enough."

A silence grew again, but this time, a companionable and comforting one. Athos's breathing evened out until D'Artagnan was convinced the man was asleep. As the sounds of a triumphant Porthos and Aramis drifted towards D'Artagnan's ears, he said softly into the fire, "Thank you, Athos."

* * *

><p><em>The ending...makes me want to barf. I do not like how it turned out at all. Meh. Anyways, there's my first attempt at a 3M fanfic, hopefully you people didn't find it too terrible.<em>

_Thanks for reading!_

_~RR  
><em>


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